


Turning

by Dana



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:10:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3193064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end of 1975 is drawing ever nearer, but there are some domestic matters to attend to:  that being, their first Christmas <i>together</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In The Here and Now

**Author's Note:**

> The vast majority of what I wrote for the 2014 Advent Calendar over at [lifein1973](http://lifein1973.livejournal.com) on LJ was established relation OT3, most of it at least kind of fluffy. Posting this as a chaptered little set. There's one last story I'd like to finish, just for completion's sake, but I haven't got around to it yet. I originally posted this as happening at the end of 1973, but I think instead it's probably at the end of ~~1974~~ 1975.
> 
> To get it all rolling, have some thinky!grouchy!Gene.

The wet air's thick and chilly, the weather blustery, sky gone thick and grey with clouds. The front walk's clear again but from the looks of it, he'll be out the next day (like bloody clockwork) to clean it off again. Bloody winter. Hates it with a passion, he does.

Gene leans the shovel beside the door, the bare front hedge standing to the right of it, speckled with bits of slushy snow. He kicks his boots off on the front steps before he's pushing his way on into the warmth of his house, cinnamon and spice assaulting his nose and Nat King Cole assaulting his ears.

Sam's gonna scold him for acting like such a tired old grump. Annie's just going to look disappointed, and he bloody well doesn't want _that_. He shouldn't care either way because winter's a bloody distasteful waste of time, Christmas and all. Whoever thought this mess up in the first place ought to have been sectioned.

Inside now, he locks the door behind him, shrugs out of his wet winter coat and hangs it up to air out, flings his gloves down onto the rolling desk so they can dry out as well. Shivering despite the warmth of the front hall, he stoops down to rid himself of those heavy boots – the bloody obnoxious things. Finally free, Gene stands back up and moves on into the living room. There's Annie, curled up on the sofa, tucked beneath a worn old afghan his mam had knitted when he was a lad. Seems to be sleeping, so while he does step up close to peek down at her – right, she's out like a light – he smiles, mostly because no one can see.

The living room's done up, the Christmas tree sparkling. Annie insisted on the stockings hung at the mantle. Sam did most of the coordinating, seeing as he's so sodding good at that sort of thing. He's good at getting stuff done by not doing much of it himself.

Which is probably just Gene being unfair. He's the one who sat back like a lump while Annie and Sam did the living room up, perhaps imagining future Christmases where they'd be doing this sort of thing in their own bloody house. It made him feel useless, but it also made him smile, and it also left him feeling they wouldn't need him forever.

Bit confusing, really – no wonder he's in such a sodding bad mood.

He ruffles her curls, Annie sighing and settling back down – she hadn't roused. He shakes his head. No, one of these days Sam and Annie'll get married and go off and live their own lives, and this on and off honeymoon life of his he's been living (thanks to them) will fade back into cold beans and soggy toast.

He's gonna miss them, not that they'll ever know. He never could have guessed that getting Sam back (because he's a stubborn, greedy git, couldn't just be happy with one thing, not Sam-bloody-Tyler) would foist Sam's bird on him as well. Or that he'd get used to the attention from both of them. Annie's really trying, he hopes Sam can see that – being himself, he mostly wanders about in a daze that's nearly oblivious, if too bloody endearing.

The bloody bastard. Can't he see just how lucky he is?

He checks on the fireplace, pokes at the wood, picks himself back up and carries himself on into the kitchen. That's where Sam is, stooped down in front of the oven, muttering (and only most of it beneath his breath). He really acts like he's the king of this room, and while Annie does a lot of helping out as well – even Gene offers his assistance, from time to time, knows a bloody good thing when he sees it – Sam's the boss of the kitchen, and that's just that.

And right now, the boss is having a bit of a heart to heart with the rather worn out old stove. 'Bloody hell, you're an ancient bastard, aren't you? Work with me, alright? I'll talk the Guv into retiring you somewhere nice... and sunny... with some hula girls if you'd like it, if you could just... please... not die on me tonight? _Please_?'

Talking to inanimate objects – tis the season, after all, though it's never off schedule, at least not for Sam Tyler. His cracked nature is a bloody constant, after all, something that Gene is mostly getting used to. Annie acts like an old and practised pro when it comes to Sam and his eccentricities.

He rubs his hands together... still cold. Should have warmed them at the fire. He'd not been thinking... well, he had been, but not about anything sensible.

He creeps up closer, Sam fussing about the stove, twisting a dial and then cursing beneath his breath. Gene grins. He knows an opportunity when he sees one.

So he ducks an arm around Sam's midsection, pins his arms to his sides, slaps his hand down over his mouth. Sam makes an undignified noise and licks the palm of his hand, struggling to free himself, kicking back and half-stomping on Gene's foot. He goes down, takes Sam with him, jams one of his arms and its cold hand up beneath Sam's shirt, where it lands on hot skin.

His hand slipped off Sam's mouth in the process. Sam makes another undignified noise, _screams_ – only then he's laughing, wriggling and twisting about, pinned between Gene and the oven. The bastard's ticklish. 'Why hadn't I noticed this before?'

Sam, pink-cheeked, gone a bit breathless. 'I'm getting you... back... for this!'

He catches hold of Sam and pushes his other arm up, rubbing his cold hand down Sam's side, making him shriek and laugh some more. His cheeks are going red, but he really must like it, he won't stop laughing – and how dare he be that bloody adorable when he's laughing. Gene needs to put an end to this.

Soon. Maybe.

'Shut it, Marjorie – our Annie's trying to get some ruddy kip.' He slaps his mouth down over Sam's, kissing him as he's tickling him, he's really asking for it now. Sam's wriggling about and it's, well, _nice_. He's making a lot less noise now, and he's doing a lot more touching back.

One of the kitchen chairs scrapes across the floor. Gene doesn't have to look back, Sam's expression says it all – the big eyes, the look of abject mortification (not like she's never caught them at it before)... yeah, Annie's woken up. 'Carry on,' she says, rather breezily – could just be sleepily. 'Consider that an order.'

'The... pies....' Sam gasps, at least when he's able. 'Don't you... dare... let them... burn!'

Yeah, he'll miss them, at least when it comes to that. Might be inevitable, but so's the here and now.

Gene pinches Sam's side, and his DI yelps – Sam never yelps, even he looks startled. 'Well, let's not disappoint the lady.' Gene grins, and mashes his mouth down on Sam's once more, and it's not just his own hand's that are getting up to some roaming. Sam's always persistent, gets hold of something and never lets go, and sometimes it's a very good thing indeed. Like now.

And Gene does like putting on a show.

Sam's hands, hot against his neck, fingers curling into Gene's hair. His mouth is so close, he's smiling, those lips of his just begging for another kiss. Annie giggles, sets heat running down Gene's spine, his entire body charged by it.

No one's calling him a grump, and no one looks disappointed – not on the Gene Genie's watch. He still hates winter, but not every aspect of it. Some parts of it, like Sam wriggling between him and a hard place, are bloody choice indeed.

Maybe they won't need him forever, but they do still need him _now_.


	2. Pretty Low, Pretty High

Only the first snowball takes him by surprise, hitting the side of his head – Annie's laughter outs her location behind the snow-covered hedge between Gene's yard and the neighbour's, which gives him ample opportunity to twist about and dodge the second one she hurls his way.

'That was pretty low,' Sam grimaces, even as he laughs, brushing the snow from his hair (and afterwards, his hand).

'Really?' She regards him critically, walking from one yard to the other, her cheeks rosy. Annie's bundled against the cold, somewhat mismatched. He's particularly fond of the knitted beanie she wears atop her head, it being ill-fitting and rainbow-hued – and so, in his humble opinion, perfectly charming. 'Way I see it, it hit pretty high.'

Sam huffs on a laugh, stooping down to fling a loose handful of snow at her legs. 'And the Guv says _I'm_ cheeky! Walked right into it , didn't I?'

'It and other things, yeah.' She giggles, kicking snow at him in return, which he mostly fails to avoid. 'I do think he's talking about your arse.'

Rolling his eyes, Sam sighs. If he's blushing, he can always blame it on the cold.

'I keep on walking right...' Another snowball hits his head, this time from behind, and Sam grimaces as Gene's booming laughter (and the heavy footsteps now crunching across the yard) reveals he's joined in on the fun. '...into these things, don't I?'

Another sigh, more of Annie's giggling. Sam can hear Gene stomping about, but caught between the both of them, he can't decide which of them amounts to the bigger snow-related risk.

So he brushes more snow from his hair, some of the icy water dripping down, its southbound descent blocked by his turtle-neck. He's trying to keep an eye on the both of them, but good luck with that. 'Speak of the Guv.'

Annie shrugs, only just grinning – she must have Gene approaching, and she hid it remarkably well. Really – the utter _cheek_.

'One of those days?'

With a nod that's well-suffered, Sam half-turns and drops down reflexively – he was standing there with a target on his back, for all intents and purposes, so Gene's next projectile (which he rightly predicted) sails safely by, missing him completely and instead hitting a startled Annie in the chest.

Annie, of course, fires right back.

After that, with a roar and much laughter, all hell breaks loose.


	3. Comforts

Annie heads into the living room, arms piled high with blankets. Sam, on the stairs behind her, follows with a sort of wordless wonder. Follows, and stands, and watches as she sets them down on the sofa. She half-turns, raises an eyebrow in question.

'Are you just going to stand there and stare or are you gonna lend a hand?'

Sam blinks, grins – as he props his hip against the far end of the sofa, he crosses his arms over his chest. 'I was actually going to make some hot cocoa while the Guv finished his shower...'

She blinks back at him, and smiles, absolutely delighted. 'Oh, good idea – get to that and I'll finish up here.'

By 'finish up here' she means to make a sort of pallet on the floor in front of the fire, unfolding one of the big blankets and setting herself to the task at hand. Giving a soft chuckle, Sam stands and stares at her some more, his desire to head into the kitchen moving to the back of his mind.

She's a lot more relaxed looking in her pyjamas, at least in comparison to when they'd all come in from the cold – though she's still somewhat rosy-cheeked. If her goal had been 'comfy' then she's definitely hit the mark, and that hardly makes her seem any less sexy. It's a natural sort of appeal she exudes, even when she's bundled up in long sleeves and pyjama bottoms.

Though the fuzzy slippers really are a nice touch.

She stops, stares back at him as she straightens up, smirks. 'See something you like?'

'Everything,' he replies without hesitation.

'Go on you, finish up in the kitchen... I can hear him stomping about upstairs.'

He nods, pushes away from the sofa, grabbing a pillow up off it which he lazily tosses at her. Annie artfully dodges it with a laugh, and then Sam's free to duck into the kitchen, safe from any sort of retort.

Ah, the kitchen. He rolls his eyes in amusement, looks about the room, ancient remnants (like the bloody stove) standing beside the newer appliances he'd managed to bring on into the house. Truly, this is the heart of his domain, his other home away from home. Or so Gene likes to say.

Well... it's mostly true. It's one place he can lord over completely, where Gene doesn't fight for control.

He putters about, setting the stove to heat, getting the milk out, Gene's voice drifting from the living room, Annie saying something in return. Their words are muted by distance, but they pick at his curiosity.

Then laughter, and Sam wants to peek out the door to see what they're up to. Whatever it is, they seem to be enjoying themselves – he worries about that a lot, them not getting on, because he's tried picking and choosing already. Sam knows this is a much better situation for all three of them.

He keeps himself busy, hands and thoughts alike, ducks back into the living room, tray in hand. Sam doesn't make a big show of it, says nothing to announce his return. Instead, he stops and stares at the both of them, Annie giggling as her curls bounce, tugging Gene back towards the pallet spread in front of the cracking fire.

'Where's the harm in it, Guv? Come on... sit down, relax. Sam shouldn't be too much longer.'

Gene scoffs, shakes his head. 'What the bloody hell are you doing to me, petal?'

'Oh, just taming the mighty beast.'

A snort of laughter, Sam smiling. 'Right well, at least you see just how magnificent I am.'

'I'm not blind.'

She gives another tug on his arm, sitting down. There's enough spare blankets to make a cuddle pile, and Sam's sure this is what Annie's been planning all along. There's some things he couldn't imagine happening in a hundred million years, and this is definitely one of them.

'Just gonna stand there and stare all night, Gladys?' Gene's words cut right into his thoughts.

Sam smiles a bit brighter as he takes a few more steps towards them, Annie snug in Gene's arms – wouldn't want the cocoa to end up getting cold.


	4. The Proper Place

Eventually Sam extricates himself from the warm pile before the fireplace, picks himself back up and carries on into the kitchen. He misses them immediately, the touch and the intimacy, but it's getting darker out by the minute and he really needs to do something about dinner. Now that he thinks about it, the entire day seems a little out of order – he doesn't know if it's something to blame on the season, or having too much free time on his hands. He knows that he should've started on it earlier, but Annie's plans had turned into a very pleasant diversion.

Dinner won't be anything special, but there's plenty of that coming up anyhow – talk had drifted from topic to topic, Christmas being a near constant. He'll laze about for the time being, battening down the hatches when the time's closer to right, and everything will be perfect.

Well, that's what he's hoping for.

He's snooping around the fridge when he hears Gene's footsteps padding up behind him. Looking back, Gene's looking down at him as he comes to a stop, reaching out and grabbing his arm.

'Oh come on, Guv, we'll never eat at this rate,' he mutters half-heartedly, a minute or so later, the fridge closed and Sam's back flat against the door. Gene's arms are about him, warm and heavy, mouth nuzzling along the curve of Sam's neck, down to his shoulder.

'What's...' Gene mutters, nosing his way back up to Sam's throat – Sam's hold on him tightens. 'What's the great chef planning to grace us with tonight?'

Sam chuckles. 'Leftover's. We've plenty of last night's casserole...'

A snort of a laugh, pressed to his skin. 'How bloody classy.'

He breaks off, leaning back, gazing down at Sam. There's something in his eyes, something sad, and Sam smiles in the face of it, runs one hand up along the curve of his back, the other squeezing at his hip. 'Why the long face?'

A huff, Gene shrugging. 'That's my question, Daphne.'

A grin, Sam chuckling. 'Yeah, well, turn about's fair play.'

'Life's not fair.'

He's grinning, but something seems off. He drags Sam to the side, Annie giggling as she comes up to the fridge. 'Ta, Guv.'

Sam gives him one last squeeze, sliding away from the hug. Sometimes he's sure the man has eyes in the back of his head. 'Fetch the casserole?'

'Ooo, leftovers. Fancy.' Still, Annie brings the dish out, Sam turning the oven onto heat. Simple shouldn't be a bad thing, seeing how Gene insists he goes out of his way to over-complicate ever little part of his life.

He thinks about the way Gene had touched him, barely kissing him. He's never seemed like the most affectionate of men, but Sam and Annie have had some luck in getting him to open up to the softer side of things. They'd kissed as they cuddled in front of the fire, laughing and talking as well, but there'd been something sad in the way Gene had pushed him against the refrigerator. Something Sam doesn't like.

He knows just what to do.

It's a habit of theirs to stick the one who needs it the most in the middle of the bed. Sometimes sex happens, sometimes it doesn't – it really just depends on the mood. Gene seems affectionate, overly so, and it's up to him and Annie to figure out what he needs.

When they first got together, this complicated mess that they'd refined into a working relationship, Sam had taken that spot up a lot. Now it shifts about, waiting on the winds of change to decide who's getting the centre spot next – right, Sam's made up his mind. Whatever's stuck on Gene's mind, Sam knows he won't open up and talk about it, but maybe a little bit of extra special attention will kick it in the arse and send it packing.

After the kitchen is tidied, the downstairs lights switched off, Sam checks the lock at the front door with only the light from the second floor illuminating his way. He catches Annie by the arm as she starts to go up, stops her. They need to talk, and he knows they don't have long.

'I was thinking the Guv seemed kind of moody... you know, extra glum. Don't know if it's December, or Christmas, or something else.'

She nods, runs a hand back through her hair, squeezes his free hand with the other, which seems to be just the right thing because Sam sighs, there's already too much on his mind. She looks back towards the living room, the twinkling of the Christmas lights on the tree, and nods once more. 'Yeah, thought that too... we ought to make sure he gets taken care of, good and proper, you know? Help clear his...'

The Guv, of course, makes an appearance (what had he been doing there in the dark?), coming out of the silence of the living room and grabbing them each by one arm. 'Come on, we've all showered – let's head on up to bed and get dirty again.'

Annie laughs and swats his shoulder, Sam rolling his eyes as Gene starts pushing them up the stairs. Gene's not getting out of this that easy – whatever he has planned, Sam's sure that his and Annie's decision to make sure he's taken care of 'good and proper' will trump it completely.


	5. Giving

'Stop being such a grouch.'

'You hate this holiday just as sodding much as I do, Gladys.'

'Swings and roundabouts. It makes Annie happy, and that means it's worth it.'

'So it's married life that's finally succeeded in turning you into a great bloody sap?'

'Not married yet. And haven't I always been a sap?'

'You're showing it more, that's all. She'd like this, you think?'

'Mhmm – it'd bring out the colour of her eyes. That's what you want to get her?'

'Unless you think it's a bad idea.'

'Looking to me for advice – that's novel.'

'Had to happen once.'

–

'What's that you've got there, Daphne?'

'Think they call it a bracelet, Guv.'

'Ha-bloody-ha, how very funny, you smarmy-arsed git – that's not what I meant and you bloody well know it.'

'Yeah, yeah, you got me.'

'You're hoping she'll like that shiny little bauble?'

'I guess so, yeah.'

'S'nice – really nice – you sure you can afford it? Haven't approved any wage increases lately, and I know what you make.'

'Really not worried about that, Gene... I'm certain you'd help me cover the cost.'

'You're asking for a lot now, Sammy-boy.'

'Don't worry – I'll pay you back.'

'With interest?'

'With interest.'

–

'You like gift wrapping?'

'Like it? Hate it. Glad it's just the few things we picked out, there's nothing more tedious that wrapping paper and ribbons.'

'I dunno... it's not so bad...'

'Must not be, you're in such a bloody good mood.'

'I'm in a good mood?'

'Rosy cheeks. Constantly smiling. It's actually a bit sickening. I ought to make you stop.'

'Annie – '

'Annie...? Never mind... I've got it. Annie likes this sort of thing, no wonder you can't stop smiling.'

'Am I acting that obvious?'

'Absolutely, but no worries – she'd think it was charming. I know I do.'

–

'Oi – thought you'd finished your wrapping. What's that you've got there?'

'It's nothing, that's what it is.'

'If it's nothing, then tell me why you're... oh. Never mind that, then.'

'Figured it out?'

'Clever when I need to be, remember?'

'That's the truth... wait, where are you going?'

'Ah, well, nowhere... just out.'

'Right, that makes a whole lot of bloody sense.'

'Just got a thing or three more I need to pick up, that's all.'

'Oh... oh.'

'Stop grinning.'

'Right away, Guv.'

'I mean, it's nothing.'

'Of course.'

'You're still grinning.'

'Seems I am.'

'Stop it.'

'Gotta say... no.'


	6. All Together

'What do you think?'

Annie had been so eager to show off what she'd found, she'd rushed out of the storage room as she brushed the dust from her sleeves, her hair. When she spotted him in the kitchen, she grabbed Sam about the wrist and tugged him back towards the storage room. 'Why the rush, Annie?' he'd asked, though he was letting her lead him along.

She flashed a grin right back at him, happy to see he was seemingly in an agreeable mood. The storage room really was in a miserable state, she can't have got all the dust... not off of herself, and definitely not in that cramped little room. Well, plenty of time to sort through it all as the new year approaches. She'd not mind seeing to it much sooner than that.

As it is, Gene's out, and Sam was tidying up in the kitchen. She'd just been getting a bit of a head start on that cleaning, as well as snooping about the house. It's her first Christmas away from home in this manner, and she just couldn't help herself – it being a new place for her to explore, she wanted to do so completely. She's used to her brothers making a racket, her mum and dad keeping the peace – boys will be boys, there's just no denying it when it comes to those lads. So something like this, cosy, intimate, with her Sam and their Guv, that and a big old house that stood about them, keeping them warm...

Something completely new.

So she kept on grinning, squeezed his hand. 'Just wait til you see.'

Well, now he's seen it, and other than sneezing twice against the sleeve of his yellow and pale-green striped shirt, he hasn't said much. Nothing positive, that's for certain, and that realisation is wearing at the edges of Annie's rather ample holiday cheer. It's a bit tiresome, trying to hold it all together – between Sam, who seems extra glum as the season approached, sad in small, extra ways, and Gene, who's only just ever been himself, it's getting bloody old.

'Sam?'

He sighs, shakes his head, looks like he might just end up sneezing again, though the urge ends up passing him by. 'What do you want me to say?'

She rolls her eyes, pokes him in the side with her index finger. 'Anything would be a nice start.'

He chuckles, shakes his head, rubs at his cheek. 'Well then, right – that's not asking for too much.'

'Sam – '

'If it was at the back of the storage room beneath taped up boxes, a bloody thick layer of dust, and various other sundry on top of all that – he probably kept it back there for a good reason. Whatever you're planning, it's a bad idea.'

That's Sam right there, always attempting to be sensible, even though when it comes to dealing with Gene – and the three of them, altogether – it sometimes means you need to lean a bit more towards the heart of things, instead of the brains. If, on first meeting Sam (and giving him a nice hard jab in the kidney – what? He's the one who'd asked), it was hard enough to imagine being in relationship with one of her superior officers, let alone two.

Life does just have a funny way of catching you by surprise, throwing you for a complete loop along the way.

'Oh?' She's trying not to sound like she's too disappointed, but given the way Sam's frowning, she knows he's heard it in her voice. Well, let him hear it – she's certainly not going to act like she feels guilty about any of this. No, it's Christmas Eve, and you just aren't allowed to be unhappy on Christmas Eve.

Maybe that's a childish thing for Annie to think, the sort of belief leftover from when she was an actual child, but it's one more thing she'd rather not let the cynicism of adulthood (and of being a copper on top of all that) steal away.

He shrugs, could just leave it at that – however, it being Sam, he doesn't. 'You know the Guv – out of sight, out of mind.'

She sighs, shakes her head, reaches out to grab his hand. 'Well I think it's a right shame to keep it hidden.'

'Annie...' He's already made up his mind to go through with it, hasn't he? Because he's a bit of a daft sort, the good sort of daft, and he can't bear to see her so unhappy, and over something as silly as all this. 'This really isn't a good idea.'

She gives his hand a tight squeeze, and Sam squeezes back. 'Where's your sense of holiday cheer?'

He gives a small laugh, and as she smiles up at him, he smiles right back. 'Hiding behind my sense of self preservation, I think.'

–

It's a very nice piano. She remembers her grandmother having had one that was just as nice as this one, but that was a lifetime ago, so faded from memory she hardly remembers the details. She never did pick up how to play, though she's sure she must have tried. She liked singing much more than that, though her brothers tended to agree she sounded like a yowling cat.

Who needs brothers, really?

It takes them a half-hour to get a clear path from the back of the storage room to the front, and another half-hour on top of that to get the piano moved out into the lounge.

It seems to fit – Annie had always thought there was something lacking, between the sofa and the telly and the Dutch cabinet stuffed with leftover remnants of Gene's previous marriage and his distant childhood. There's a spot directly to the left of the front window that really needed something to fill it in, and in Annie's opinion, this does a perfectly good job.

Perfectly good? No, so much better than that.

Annie dusts it off, polishes the wood til it gleams. Sam makes sure it still works, plunking his fingers across the row of keys, his expression thoughtful. Maybe she's just being too hopeful, but it almost sounds like the piano can still keep a tune. That Sam might just know a bit more about them than he's gone and let on. He's like that, clamming up about the little things, and after he'd shared so much with her – and so much of having been bloody difficult to believe – it's silly that he'd get worked up over this.

'Well?'

He's sitting on the bench in front of it, lowered the case over the keys. 'Still don't think it's a good idea.' Sam grins, shakes his head, pushes the bench back before he stands up. 'But it does look nice. Hopefully Gene won't kill us too much for having shoved our noses into his business – it being Christmas Eve and all.'

'Oh, you.' She takes a few steps closer to him, and Sam takes a few more closer to her. They end up face to face, or close enough, and she presses in for a kiss.

That, of course, is how Gene finds them. He'd gone out for a few more bottles of something hard to drink, hopefully would make it before the nearest shop closed – he'd complained about the vintage of the wine Sam had chosen, which is what led to them both insisting he go out and buy something more suitable. He only went on his own because Annie and Sam had promised that dinner would be ready on his return.

It's done, staying warm in the oven. Then Annie had done a bit of snooping about, and she'd end up finding the piano... If Sam clams up then there are just some details of Gene's personal life that he protects with lock and key.

'...what's going on here, then?'

He certainly isn't asking about the kiss. Sam blushes as he pulls back, smiles, the nervous twitch of it. 'Nothing you haven't seen before.'

Gene rolls his eyes. 'Ha-bloody-ha. Good one, Tyler – you know that's not what I meant.'

Sam's tensing up in response to Gene's aggressive tone, the air's thickening beneath it, and Annie definitely doesn't want them to end up hitting each other tonight. Punch-ups on Christmas Eve? Right, definitely not allowed. No bloody way.

She steps in, puts herself between Sam and Gene, the two rather fragmented pieces of her heart. She's mostly sure that Gene would never hit her. 'It's a piano, Guv.'

'Yes, I can bloody well see what it is, Cartwright – I know what they're called.' He's scowling, but that hasn't stopped him from taking steady steps towards it, and them. She edges closer to it as well, trails her fingers across the well-polished wood. She'd done such a good job, hadn't she?

'What's it going in my sodding living room, what's what I'd like to know?' The tension has lessened – there's something else in Gene's voice now, something that Annie can't find it in her to name, something tremulous, nearly soft – and he reaches out now that he can, presses his hand to the cover.

A sigh, Sam's. 'I told her it was a bad idea.'

A soft chuckle, hardly the cheery sort. 'Tis the bloody season for them, isn't it?'

'Oh, hush up now – stop being such grinches, the both of you.' She frowns, crosses her arms over her chest, looks from Sam – standing, at a loss, in the middle of the living room, his attention focused on Gene's back – and Gene, right there beside her, running his fingers across the wood.

'Humbug,' Gene mutters.

Sam sighs. 'Annie...'

She frowns, feels like she's done wrong somehow, and it's an important night so she needs to make it right. 'Guv – '

'It belonged to me mam.' He's tugged his hand away, resolutely pushed both of them down into his pockets.

'Oh, I – we'll put it back, I didn't – ' Oh, that explains it, those unspoken things in his voice, the mix of emotions that's just now crossing his face, what must amount to an entire load that Gene doesn't want to deal with. A bit of sorrow, a bit of joy, the result of which is a very confusing blend of the two.

'Right, you didn't know.' He stares her down, grabs hold of her attention and doesn't let it go. 'I never meant to tell.' Right, but that's the Guv – always hiding the little things, the details that matter most, these closed off parts of his life that Annie can't help but want to be allowed into, her and Sam both. She has a lot of love for the both of them, and she can be just as stubborn as they are combined. He gives a little, and she appreciates it, but it only means she's left wanting more.

'Gene...' Sam's stepped up close now, has wrapped his arms around their Guv, hugging him from behind. Gene huffs on a sigh, closes his eyes, and Annie finds herself hugging him as well. It's these simple moments that leave her the most surprised – sex is one thing, and she knows she has a deep enough emotional connection with Sam, but sometimes she feels it's lacking on Gene's part, not that she doesn't try.

She gets the feeling she'll marry Sam one of these days, it seems like he gets close to asking but then he takes a few steps back. Annie wonders if it'll still just be the three of them together, rather the way it should be – the newly-weds and their divorced boss, isn't it good of the young couple to take care of the poor daft sod?

Because Gene has a way of holding things in. It's up to her and Sam to pull him out of that, bit by slightest bit.

He's still caught up in their hug, not doing much of it in return. He mumbles, running through his memories, his voice gone deeper, more sombre: 'It was a gift to her from me da, back when he was less of a prick. Me mam learned to play while she was in school, and da gave her this piano as a wedding gift.'

She gives a tight squeeze, feels that Sam's just done the same thing. 'I... we'll put it back, right away. Won't we, Sam?' Annie edges back, just slightly, only then Gene's shaking his head, and Annie stops dead in her tracks.

'Guv?'

They'd had him caught up in their arms, and now he's slipping free. He moves back to the piano with purpose in his stride, puts both of his hands down on the casing atop the row of keys, wordlessly flipps it back open.

'No bloody way – and that's an order. It being our first Christmas together... and it being something of a family heirloom...' More sorrow, more things that Annie can't explain, more reasons for her to want to wrap him up in hugs and never let him be. It must be related to his brother Stu, the one she's heard mention of but Gene doesn't do any talking about at all. Something she could press to know more about, only it never seems to be the right time. Sam knows more than he's saying, but if she's digging into this mess, she'd rather it be at the source.

'Well, I'd think she'd like knowing it was getting played.'

Sam laughs softly, eyes wide with amazement. 'You can play?'

Gene rolls his eyes, sits right down on the bench, claims it as his own – which, of course, it is. 'Course I can – don't tell me, you never could have guessed.'

'Well, no – no, I couldn't.' Sam shrugs, runs a hand back through his hair, looks askance at Annie and smiles at her in wonder. Then he's stepping up to the piano as well, dropping down to sit beside Gene. 'I taught myself to play when I was younger... my auntie Heather had a piano and, well, she didn't play it too well – marks for effort though, right? We spent a lot of time at her house, you know, mum and I, we moved around a lot... and, well, y'know. Had a lot of time on my hands.'

Gene grins, bumps his shoulder against Sam's. 'You? Surely you were the most popular lad in school.' Plunk, plunk, plunk, his fingers are running over the keys, one by one, depressing them before releasing them and letting the sound wash through him.

'Honestly, Guv – ' Sam shakes his head, but he's grinning. For as scrappy as he is now, that can't have been a recent development – Sam's probably been the stubborn sort who'd been fighting from the onset, never knowing when it was smart to back down.

Gene reaches up, snakes his arm about Sam's neck, pulls him close. 'Oh, hush up – give us a kiss.'

Sam does, happily, and Annie feels the heat building on her cheeks, running down her neck, the swell of her heart, suddenly too big to fit in her chest. She'll never get tired of watching them, this open intimacy than she's been allowed to share in. When Gene thought it was best for it to end between him and Sam, when Sam hadn't been happy enough to just settle for one thing when he wanted it all, when Sam made sure he got everything he wanted.

No, he's been fighting all his life, he's certainly not going to up and quit now.

He looks dazed, after all that, the colour high on his cheeks, the way it's running down his neck as well. Somehow, Annie had moved closer to them both, not that she'd noticed it as it happened.

'You next, petal.'

'Yes, sir.' A grin, Annie stooping down, one knee pressed against the edge of the bench, Sam's back warm against her front. Being kissed by Gene is even better than watching it happen to some other person, and anyhow, she knows Sam likes the outside experience just as much as she does. They've talked about it, a lot.

She's dizzy, afterwards, licking her lips as she stands back up. Sam pushes his shoulder against Gene's, and the one she's gripping – the opposite one – she gives it a tight squeeze, her other hand coming up to rest at the back of Gene's neck, her fingers curling into his hair.

'Hrm. Bit rusty.' Gene hits a few more keys, then another set of them – Sam, at the far end of it, hits a number of them as well. They're not making much harmony at this point, only just trying to get things sorted out and settled down.

'Still – sure it'll be something, Gene' Sam even rolls his eyes, as though to add extra emphasis. 'It being our first duet and all.'

They're managing something now, a but closer to a proper melody, but, with them being themselves... 

'You're going too fast.' Gene bumps into Sam's elbow.

Sam grimaces, elbows back. 'No, you're just going too bloody slow.'

'What?' Gene bumps into Sam once more, they're going at it like little boys – no matter what, it always comes down to a fight with these two. They find balance, but very rarely is there harmony. 'You never complained about that before!'

She almost laughs. Sam, though, does, snorts as well. He elbows Gene again, really getting into it now. 'Stay on your side of the piano.'

'It's my bloody piano, I can go wherever I want!'

'But you're going to ruin the song!'

'Just stay on your side of the piano, you bloody git!'

More laughter ('it doesn't work that way, Guv!'), bloody chaotic piano playing going on in the midst of it. She doesn't know how they're getting it done, because to her eye there's absolutely no cohesion to their antics.

But isn't that just how they work?

Annie laughs again, shakes her head. Whoever knew she'd be so lucky to get stuck with the two of them in her life? Because she really is lucky.

'Any requests, Cartwright?'

'Hmm... Deck the Halls?'

'Know that one, Gladys?'

'Course I do, Guv.'

She hums along, at first, when the song switches over – they're a lot more organised this time, which shows just how well they do work together. Live a little, learn a lot.

She hasn't seen either of them this happy in a long, long time – if ever. It's an unguarded thing, pure and simple, a little bit of effort and she's seeing something she hadn't been blessed with before.

And Annie's not stupid, she knows a blessing when she sees one.

She also knows she'll have to go all _I told you so_ on Sam once the moment for it is better: in the end, making sure they pulled this piano out of storage was probably one of the best ideas she's had all year.

But for now, she shuts her mouth, and hums along instead.


	7. Traditions, Old and New

When Sam wakes it's just the two of them in bed, Sam warm and alone beneath the covers, Gene above them and to his left. Awake already, sitting with his back to the headboard, fresh sunlight setting off the highlights in his hair. He's smoking, but Sam's not awake enough to complain. Anyhow, his tired mind is being drawn to other, more important things, instead.

It's a very nice bed, and a very big one... it would have to be, seeing how the three of them tend to fill up all the space. It's something Sam'll never get over, and hopefully something he'll never take for granted.

He's lucky, his sleep-sluggish mind still knows that. To be here. To be able to have both of them, not just have to pick one over the other. Being greedy and in love has some perks.

Blinking, groggy, those thoughts slipping to the side, Sam smiles up at his Guv. 'Merry Christmas.'

'Merry Christmas yourself.' Still, he's grinning, despite the sulkiness of his words.

'Where's Annie?'

The way the end of his cigarette burns so brightly reminds Sam just how much he wishes the other man wouldn't smoke in bed. Seeing how just getting him to not eat in it had been a chore and a half and definitely more trouble than it was worth, Sam knows he won't be getting Gene to let go of this one vice any time soon. At least he doesn't have to worry about crumbs.

Gene blows the smoke out, looks down at Sam, reaches out and brushes his warm fingers across Sam's sleepy brow. Sam hums at the slight touch, feels his smile widen.

'Making breakfast.'

'Oh.' Sam starts to push himself up, but Gene tuts and pushes him back down. He does that a lot, and Sam doesn't always mind.

'She doesn't need any help.'

'I'm sure she'd appreciate – '

'Look, Sam – I'm not being a stubborn, pig-headed chauvinist – well, not this once. The lady insisted. Said she wanted it to be special.' He shrugs, and Sam grins up at him. Well, that does sound nice. He'll have full run of the kitchen after that – there's a whole lot he has planned and if he looks at it objectively, not a whole lot of time to get it done.

So he shouldn't settle back down with his head pillowed on Gene's lap, let those long fingers run through his hair. No, he shouldn't, but he does it anyhow. It's nice, and that's a bloody understatement. Drifting in and out of a doze, Sam eventually wakens properly, and finds that the bed has been otherwise vacated: he's the only one left.

Cold to the left and the right of him – how disappointing.

He stares at the ceiling for a minute or two and makes up his mind. He really has too much work to do and lazing about won't help him get any of it done. He'll miss the warmth of the covers immediately, but it's a simply a sacrifice he's going to have to make. Anyhow, he misses his bedmates more.

Sliding out from beneath the warm covers, the carpet cool beneath his bara feet, his ears perk – the shower's running. Slipping out of his pyjama top and letting it drop to the floor behind him, he stops at the open bathroom door. Reaching inside, he taps against the wall before peeking his head in.

'Mind if I join you?'

He sees the familiar shape distorted by the filtered perception of the shower curtain, Gene snorting on a laugh. 'Not at all.'

–

'Bloody hell... how long have you been awake?'

A wink, the grin that goes with it showing just how frazzled she is – and just how much caffeine she'd already imbibed – her curls gone somewhat wild on top of all that. 'Oh, a few hours now... breakfast casseroles take time. Merry Christmas, Sam.'

She pulls him in for a kiss, one he happily returns.

'Merry Christmas, Annie.'

'Oi, I see you over there, Guv – Merry Christmas to you too.'

He rolls his eyes, sat in his chair at the kitchen table. 'Said that to me already, petal.'

Annie's still grinning, giggling as well. 'Felt like saying it again.'

A huff of a sigh. 'Merry Christmas, Annie.'

'Whatever you're cooking smells delicious – what's on the menu?'

'It's hashbrowns, and bacon, and green onions and some cheddar as well... a few layers of it. Oh, and a bit of it as garnish on top. Could you get the tea? I'll just plate this all up.'

Sam nods, smiling at her. It's grease on top of more grease but the day _is_ special. You can get away with a lot on Christmas day.

Gene's already taken his place at the head of the table. He does help around the kitchen, but only when he's asked to. He fits in absolutely perfectly at times, but there are others where he's left at a clear loss: now is one of those times.

'What about presents?' The most pertinent of questions, it being Christmas day, accompanied by the sulkiest of pouts. Sam cracks a grin, the slightest thing: Gene hadn't really been into the entire shopping and gift wrapping part of the season, but he warmed up towards the end of it. He's clearly showing his eagerness down.

'Presents happen after breakfast – it's tradition.'

'This is the first time we've ever shared a Christmas together, darling.'

A laugh, Annie grinning like a wild thing. 'I know that, dear – but it's never too early to start making new traditions.'

Sam fetches the tea and carts it to the table, setting their mugs down one at a time. 'Annie's right.'

'Of course you'd say that.' Gene takes his cup, drops a dash of milk in it as well as two sugars. 'But she could have a point. Just need to make sure we play the piano again, seeing as you thought it pertinent to drag the bloody thing out of storage.'

Sam's taken his seat now, and Annie drops into her own. Her smile brightens the entire room. 'Will do, Guv.'

–

There aren't too many wrapped boxes beneath the tree: Annie always thought that quality should come before quantity, a belief Sam shared. The stockings are stuffed. The fire's crackling. Gene plays a few songs on the piano, only then they're dragging him back down for cuddles. Cuddling Gene Hunt. Right, Sam's never going to get over with that. Especially the fact that he cuddles right back.

It's the start of an absolutely perfect day.

The shawl Gene bought her really does bring out the colour in her eyes, and the bracelet he bought her fits her wrist perfectly. There's other presents, on top of that, the new watch he'd got for Gene being one of them. Gene's pleased with it, that and the fact that Annie tucked a good bottle of single malt into his stocking.

Yeah, perfect. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

–

'We're having a big dinner – if you want some lunch, you know there's leftovers in the fridge, right? Just don't eat too much, okay? This should be finished in just a few hours, and I don't want either of you being too full to enjoy it.' That would probably ruin the day.

'I'd say something about you being a lazy arse if I didn't know that you'd be taking good care of my stomach later on. Come on, Annie...' He digs through the fridge, pulls out a dish. 'I think this mess here is still edible. You want any, Daphne?'

Sam shakes his head, grinning. 'No, I'm fine – got too much to work to do here. I'll worry about eating when it's all over.'

Gene nods – it makes sense – and as he and Annie take their places at the kitchen table and start picking through the leftovers, Sam goes to check the stove. The turkey's already cooking. The oven's holding out for him, which is all he could hope for. The new year is close. They're really going to get this ancient monstrosity replaced.

There isn't too much for him to do while that's on, other than prep things that are going to get cooked atop the stove. Yorkshire pudding or roasted potatoes? Roasted potatoes, definitely. Pigs in blankets, absolutely. He grins, gazing towards Annie and Gene. Yeah, Gene especially would think that perfectly fitting for cohabitating coppers.

Because that's really what they are. Neither he or Annie have done much going home this month, work then pub then following Gene home, keeping him company as Christmas loomed ever closer. Sometimes – no, all the time – Sam hopes that he'll just want to keep the both of them forever. If there's one of them that would have difficulty believing this could go on that long, it would have to be Gene.

'Sam – '

'Hmm?'

'You're bleeding!'

'...what?'

He'd been thinking, but he'd been keeping busy: Sam had pulled the bag of potatoes from the pantry, had set to washing them off. After that they needed to be quartered. Somehow Sam's hand had got in the way.

Sam's looking at it now, really seeing it, the slice and the red seeping out of it, the first bloody drop that hits the worktop. It's a good slice, straight across his palm, Gene taking Sam by the wrist and jerking him towards the sink. He flips the tap on and shoves Sam's hand beneath the cold water, Annie having made a dash from the room in order to fetch the first aid box from the bathroom.

Sam's still just trying to wrap his head around what's happened, what he's done. The stinging pain is just sinking in.

'What happened here, Gladys?' Gene's voice, rough with concern.

'Wasn't paying attention, I guess.' He almost laughs, it's that ridiculous.

'Is it deep?' That's Annie, coming back into the kitchen.

'Deep enough – ta, Annie. You're a blessing to have around, unlike some others.'

'Oi - don't say that, Guv. Accidents happen.'

Sam gives into that urge to laugh. 'Tell me this isn't happening.' He has _plans_. There's food to cook. There's way too much he needs to get done, he does not need this! He doesn't have the _time_! Annie's turning his hand from side to side, eyeing the cut critically. It's long, at a diagonal across his palm. It just keeps bleeding...

Annie tuts her tongue, shakes her head and gives him a stern look. 'Looks like you need stitches.'

Then Gene is wrapping bandaging about his hand, doing so securely. 'This – ' Sam laughs again. 'Tell me this isn't happening.'

'Great, now he's repeating himself!' Gene sighs, and Sam turns to look at him, sees the strain. 'Only you'd do this sort of thing to yourself, and on bloody Christmas day!'

'I didn't do it on purpose!'

'Of course you didn't! But you still did do it, you bloody – '

'Come on, come on! Let's not blow this out of proportion?' Annie's trying to be the peacekeeper, she's glaring at them both unhappily now, hands settled onto her hips. 'Accidents happen, and that's all this was! Look – Guv, you need to calm down. Let me fetch my coat, and I'll drive Sam to A&E.'

Gene takes immediate affront to that – Annie was really asking for it, thinking the Guv would just let her drive his car, leave him to the women's work. 'I'll drive him! You finish the dinner before he starts whinging and whining on top of everything else!'

'You!' Annie takes a step towards him, jabs him in the chest with one pointed finger. 'Need to calm down! Okay?'

His cheeks are going red, and Sam's about to shove himself in between the both of them – if anyone's getting hit, it'd best be him – but Gene crumples, and nods. He really hadn't expected that turn to occur - it makes Annie amaze him that much further, and she amazes him completely as it is. Standing up to Gene like that, and him being the one to back down - she's come such a long way.

'Bloody hell, you're right. Okay – you drive him. I'll finish this up here.'

'Okay, good,' Annie smiles, and Sam blinks through his surprise – because this part is just hitting him - wait, what the hell just happened? Did Gene just agree to finish cooking Christmas dinner? 'Maybe the wait won't be _too_ terrible. We should be back in just a few hours.'

'Right right, take Boy Wonder here and go get your coat.'

He's only just feeling the cut now, how it burns. 'I can't go to hospital!'

'Bloody hell, Sam, stop worrying about dinner! Let Annie drive you! I'll take care of this mess!'

'I... I can't go to hospital.' He's still repeating himself.

Gene glares at him. Annie's slipped out of the room, but it won't take her long and then she'll return. 'You need to, daft sod! Just... go get your hand patched up, alright? I'll take care of your sodding dinner plans, Sam.'

'I... you don't...'

'I do,' he insists. 'Look, just... ah, there we go. Take good care of our boy.'

'Will do, Guv.' Annie's grabbing him by the arm now. 'Come on, Sam – hopefully this won't take too long.'

'This... come on... This really can't be happening.' He shakes his head, the room wobbling about him. Annie's turning him about, Gene's behind them. It's too bloody difficult to just let it all go.

Annie smiles, he really does love her smile. 'It'll be alright – don't worry. Gene... I'm sure he'll do a fine job of finishing it all up. How do you feel?'

They're in the front hall now. He slides into his jacket, shakes his head. 'A bit dazed.' Cold air slams into him as they exit the house, the door closing behind them. Annie takes him by the arm once more, leading him towards the car.

'Just don't worry... okay? Everything's going to be fine.'

–

It's only when they get to A&E that everything slows down enough so Sam can pay attention to what's going on: he's also still trying to figure out how he ended up hurting himself in the first place. And it really does hurt. At least it isn't his more important hand.

Will Gene remember to do the sprouts? He was going to put the cabbage on just as soon as he'd finished with the potatoes. They'll need carrots as well, and hopefully Gene can handle a knife better than Sam clearly can _not_. Pigs in blankets! He should have said something about that! Gene doesn't even know when to take the turkey from the oven! But all he did was just let Annie hurry him from the house.

Stitches for Christmas – this really wasn't something he'd hoped for.

'Stop thinking so much, Sam.' Annie squeezes his good hand. 'It's really gonna be alright, okay? You need to try and relax.'

Try to relax. The way Gene needed to relax, which led to him staying at home to look after dinner, which is why Sam is worrying in the first place. It's just not that simple, not worrying – relaxing is the furthest thing from his mind. Still, he smiles, and nods, and gives her hand a squeeze in return.

He still can't believe that this is happening. He'd had _plans_. He's sitting in A &E and he's worrying himself sick because he wanted everything to be perfect. First Christmas together. Everything needs to go the right way.

And now Sam knows he's ruined it all, and all because he hadn't been paying enough attention.

–

'You know,' he says, eventually, when he thinks the wait is just about to kill him, it's taking that long. 'This really isn't how I expected to spend Christmas day.' At least it doesn't hurt as bad as it could - thankfully he has other worries eating at his mind.

Annie laughs, and pets the back of his hand. 'Yeah, me neither.'

–

He hates getting stitches, he always has. The best part being that he'll have to come back and get them all taken out, plus the fact that they feel so bloody itchy. He gets seven of them as an impromptu Christmas present, plus some minor painkillers to dull any leftover pain.

But at least this means they can head back home.

Snow's falling softly as they get back into the car, the wind blowing cold from the north. Here's hoping they still have a home to go back to.

–

Home – that's what it is now. No, Gene's stuck with the both of them forever, he just doesn't know it yet. Sam's clever, and so is Annie – they'll be able to figure something out. Gene's too cynical for his own good, he can't imagine a good thing lasting. Well, Sam and Annie will just have to prove him wrong.

–

'Right – here we are again, all together now.' Gene grins at him, pulls him close, presses a kiss to his cheek. 'How's it feeling?' Gently, ever so, he takes Sam's hand and lifts it to his mouth, Sam anticipating the pressure that's soon to follow – but the kiss Gene presses his hand is gentler by far.

'Don't feel much right now.' Sam forces a smile. 'You didn't burn the house down,' he casually adds in, Gene letting go of his hand.

Gene snorts on a laugh, Annie giggling as she hangs up her coat. Gene takes him by the shoulder and turns him about, the warmth of his hand soaking through Sam's shirt. 'Come on, want you to check it all over – make sure I didn't do anything wrong.'

'Did you have any... trouble?'

Gene shrugs. 'Don't think so. I watch you cook enough, and you let me help sometimes... and like you said, you being a positive bastard, I didn't burn anything down.'

Sam cracks a smile. 'I'll never doubt you again.'

Another laugh. 'You will too, Sam,' and that's Annie nosing in. 'But don't worry – you always sort it out in the end.'

–

The sprouts could have cooked a bit longer, and the turkey is a touch too dry, but that could just be the bird. He remembered the cabbage and the carrots as well, and he went and finished the potatoes that had given Sam so much trouble. The pigs in blankets are just as perfect as he'd thought they would be, Sam's glad Gene thought about them.

'Just felt it was fitting, you know?' Gene asks, grinning as he waggles his eyebrows.

'Yeah, that's just what I was thinking when I deccided to put them on the menu.'

Everything was perfect, actually. Gene set the table, lit the candles, set the mood just as perfectly as Sam would have done, if he'd been the one who'd put it all in motion. He can't have asked for more, Gene's really put a lot of effort into it.

All in all, it's everything it could have been. Maybe even more.

'I think you saved Christmas, Guv.' Sam shakes his head, huffs out a soft laugh. He's full, he couldn't eat another bite if his life depended on it – thankfully it doesn't. 'Saved it from me.'

'Ah, well, just the dinner part of it.' Still, he's smiling, looks pleased with himself. He really went all out, and Sam can't imagine what was going on in Gene's mind as he went through the motions. How could Sam ever repay him? It's a silly little thing, hardly important in the grand scheme of it. Of course Sam would want to make a deal of it, he's well aware of his tendency to over-obsess about that sort of thing.

There's a lot of cleaning up that needs to be done, and Sam isn't even going to be able to assist in the washing up. He feels a bit stupid, and definitely a bit useless. He could say that he's sorry, but neither of them will appreciate it. It wasn't all ruined, and all because of him.

'Let's just not make this one of our new traditions, okay?' Annie grins. The bracelet he'd given her twinkles, wrapped around her wrist.

'Yeah,' Gene laughs, leaning back into his seat, 'let's bloody well not!'

Sam nods enthusiastically, he certainly doesn't want a replay of tonight – who would? Not ever, and at least not any time soon, not when he's still feeling the original injury so sharply. 'You're not gonna hear any complaints from me.'

A laugh, Gene rolling his eyes as he swats Sam's shoulder. 'It really must be Christmas, because you not complaining for once – that's the best sodding present a bloke could ever ask for.' Even Annie's laughing after that.

'Ha-ha-ha, very funny.' Still, it being Christmas, he doesn't much mind bearing the brunt of all their joking – he can always get back at them later. The day started off on the right foot, veered off course, but it's mostly ended well – and that fact certainly does a lot to help brighten his mood. 'I'll consider adding 'complain less' to my list of new year's resolutions.'

Gene's expression turns suddenly sombre, and for a sliver of an instant Sam's worried he's said the wrong thing. 'Don't go making promises you can't keep.' The twitch at the corner of his Guv's mouth gives him away.

Annie reaches over and thwaps Gene's arms. 'Oh, now you're just being mean. Sam always keeps his promises.' The smile she turns Sam's direction is soft and sweet, and somehow completely telling. 'Isn't that right, Sam?'

Sam opens his mouth to answer her, but Gene interjects before he's able to: 'Yeah, he does. Now, enough of all that – who's ready for pie?'

The sudden shift in subject brooks no argument – it's just not the right time. Sam's sure they'll travel back down that road eventually, but for now, all that matters is the here and now. 'Count me in, Guv,' he says.

Annie's curls bounce from her enthusiastic nodding. 'Me too, please.'

He dishes the pieces out deftly, no trouble at all with the knife, Sam notices with some chagrin. He also ends up with the largest piece, but that seems fair enough – he did the most work. Sam counts his blessings, accepts his slice, and simply lets it be.


	8. There and Then

They're the ones who made the mess, and they're the ones who end up cleaning it up. All the seasonal rubbish gets put back in its proper place, boxed up in storage – or, for some specific things, loaded into Annie's car, soon to make a return to her flat.

Well, other than the piano, of course. That stays.

Gene shuffles about the lounge and notices the empty spaces acutely. He'd mostly got used to the clutter, the lights and the decorations and even the excess of bloody cheer. Most especially he'd grown used to Sam and Annie spending what must have amounted to all of their spare time round his house. Oh, work had been work, getting in the way it usually would, but he'd had some better reasons to head home at the end of the day, well, time at the pub set aside. He sees the spots where his missus kept her things, treasured knick-knacks, a lamp or a desk handed down from her mum, the empty spaces he had to fill in.

Put new furniture in, a new lamp and a new turntable, but it hardly fit the bill. Something had still been missing, and it was rather more substantial than material goods.

As for Sam and Annie, they'd definitely been keeping the emptiness at bay.

'Think I'm gonna miss it,' he mutters, unsure of how that makes him feel. Sam, dusting the mantle off, the last of the tinsel, looks back over his shoulder. His brow drawn together, the slight, pleasant purse of his lips.

'What was that, Guv?'

A shrug, followed by a pause, it taking him a moment to piece together what he means to say. 'Oh, you know. Wasn't such a bad Christmas.' It was more than that, but it's still a good answer. Definitely, seeing as it's put a smile on Sam's face.

He turns about. 'Thanks to you.'

A huff of a laugh, the answering grin. 'Well, next time slice the potatoes and not yourself, and it won't need saving.' With a good deal of chagrin, Sam takes a look at his bandaged hand.

'Getting the stitches out on Wednesday.' He shuffles from foot to foot. 'I'm pretty sure I've learned my lesson.'

Gene rolls his eyes. 'We'll never be so lucky.'

There's a gap between them, the sort of gulf that aches, and Gene knows he needs to put the first foot forward. Or Sam should, it honestly doesn't matter. One of them needs to make a move, but all that happens is they open their mouths at the same time.

'Gene – '

'Sam, I...'

The door opens and shuts with a loud enough bang, the harbinger of Annie's return. 'I think that's the last of it – oh, is this a bad time?' Stopped between lounge and front hall, shining those big blue eyes of hers on her Guv, and then on Sam. She looks like she'd be ready to leap into the fray if they needed a bit of peacekeeping done. Gene's certain it won't be leading to that.

So he shakes his head, runs his forefinger down the smooth polish of the mantle. He doesn't want to look at either of them at this point, maybe it'll make it easier if he focuses on the woodwork instead.

'Nothing like that, petal. I...' He should say something more, something big – heavy on the meaning, the intent, though his actions do have a habit of speaking louder than his words. He looks about the room, the cleaned up spaces, notes but ignores the pull on his heartstrings when he sees all that's gone.

Words aren't leaping to supply themselves, and it leaves him at a loss. 'Guess I'll just miss all of the mess.'

'Well, it's Christmas again in 360 days, Guv... it'll be here before you know it.' There's a smile in her voice now, one he needs to see for himself, so he turns away from the fireplace and can't help but giving into the urge to smile. Sam's stepped closer to Annie, and with a deep-boned ache Gene knows it never should have come to this. By now, if he wanted to unmake it, he'd have to turn into a bigger arse than he normally is... and he knows he doesn't have it in him.

Of course, that's not what he meant, and Annie doesn't know it. Of course, she'll never know if he doesn't say something. He's still sure he should do just that.

'What I mean is... you two.'

'Oh?'

How does that one small word speak so much? Gene grimaces, shrugs, wants to tell them to go but is torn by wanting them to never leave again.

'Having you about, every bloody minute of the day. It's been, you know. Nice.' Nice? Maybe too nice, because it's true you can have too much of a good thing.

'...it has been.' Sam nods, a simple up and down of his head, and the contemplative smile that takes over his lips, brightens his entire demeanour. It's Sam on a good day, and they all have bad ones. No, he could never have too much of these two, and if it did happen, well, he could always just step out and get a breath of fresh air. Maybe a fag or two, and definitely a heavy drink. He doesn't need them every bloody minute of every sodding day, it's just the principal.

'Don't see why you think it should stop?' The purse of Annie's lips, she looks truly perplexed. She turns that look on Sam, who hasn't quite noticed the shift in her attention. 'I mean, we're not leaving forever – Sam?'

A blink, a rather owlish one. 'Why's everyone looking at me?'

She reaches out to set her hand, lightly, on Sam's arm. 'I don't think Gene could keep you away, even if he tried.'

There's no force in the world that can keep him from scoffing at that. 'Bloody hell, I've tried.'

Even Sam huffs out a small laugh, bemusedly looking from Annie and then to Gene. 'Well, it was pretty mutual at one point. But today... when I step out that door, you can be certain that I'll be back.'

Why should it matter that much, Sam having said those words? He's going to need to have a heavy heart to heart one of these days, and what that means is he needs to really have a good talk with himself. 'Okay, well. Good. Guess that goes for you as well, Cartwright?'

Her smile almost outshines Sam's. 'It most certainly does.'

It's not forever (not that forever actually lasts), but it's a bloody good start. 'One last drink before you head off?' He knows Annie's car is outside, loaded up with the stuff that needs a return trip to her flat. That she'll be dropping Sam off at his shithole bedsit, only after he's given her a hand with unpacking.

Still, he knows they won't turn his offer down. Because of the day, or because of the conversation they've been having, or maybe just because he is who he is.

Sam's grinning again, and Annie beams as she nods. 'Don't see why not. Let me just go lock up the car.'

So he smiles, because there's not much more he could say, not as Sam moves towards the kitchen, Annie turning about to head back out the front door.

'Excellent.' Ah, well, guess he had that one last thing to say.


End file.
